To End The Rapture
by airseabattle
Summary: After being excommunicated by the church, can Silas make a transition to normal life?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- I do not own the Da Vinci code, or any of Dan Brown's characters.

Evie Zimmerman cursed irritably as rain began to fall on the grounds of London's Kensington Gardens. She had came her to sketch the some of the monuments in the park for a class she was taking at university, and had been in the middle of the outline of the Statue of Physical Energy when it began to rain, peppering her sketch pad with water droplets.

She had yet to get used to London's damp and unpredictable weather, even though she had been here since late August, and it was now the beginning of April. Evie wasmuch more accustomed to the dry, constant heat of Arizona.

She sighed as she zipped her hoodie up and threw her supplies into the army surplus bag she was carrying. She lazily began to make her way toward one of the many cafes that were on the edge of the garden grounds, looking forward to a nice hot cup of coffee and maybe a muffin. She needed to reward herself after working all day.

Unfortunately, the rain grew harder, and it forced her to look for a closer shelter. She decided to head for the closer Serpentine Gallery instead, breaking into a sprint. She had only managed to get a few feet before she slid on the path, landing face first in puddle of mud as her bag flew off, scattering its contents around the area.

"Lovely" She thought, as she wiped some of the mud off of herself. "At least nobody saw me…I hope. Now wear the hell are those pencils?"

She began to search the ground around her, hoping to recover her now mud caked supplies. Unfortunately a light fog was beginning to settle over the grounds, making the process much more difficult. She eventually managed to find her box of pencils a few feet a way near a tree-lined alcove.

"Thank god, these things are so expensive." she said and tried to get some of the water and grass off with the sleeve of her hoodie, before depositingthe pencils lazily in the back pack she was carrying.

"And now for the sketch book." She only had to look a few feet in order to see the familiar, white covered book flung open on the grass.

"Shit." She cursed. Her charcoal sketch of the Peter Pan memorial was practically unrecognizable. She tried her best to clean it, only to witness a more disturbing sight. The sketchbook was splattered with what looked like blood. But where could it have came from?

Her question was quickly answered when Evie discovered that her sketch book had fallen Into a small patch of blood on the grass that had been diluted to a light crimson by the rain, and realized that small trail of blood was heading into that alcove.

She cautiously approached the alcove, unsure of what to do. Somebody, or something was hurt. But that somebody or something could be unfriendly, and she really didn't want to die this far away from home. The CSI staple of women being mutilated in parks immediately came to mind. But still, somebody could be hurt, and she would feel guilty is she didn't at least check the area out. Reluctantly, she decided to make her way in.

At first she didn't see anything. The alcove was actually a hollow between the trees. Like the rest of the park, it was foggy. But as she focused, she suddenly found herself witnessing a horrific scene.

An unnaturally pale man was on his knees praying, practically naked, and was covered in blood, most of which seemed to be flowing from beneath his ribs. His back was covered in scars, and he had a huge, infected cut on his thigh. In Evie's mind, he resembled some sort of twisted, modern Jesus. As she slowly approached, he collapsed.

"Oh my God." She said under her breath. Evie tried to remember the first aid training she had to take in her high school health class. She had to use something to stop the bleeding, she remembered that much, so she took of her hoodie to use it as a make shift bandage as she dialed 999 on her cell phone.


	2. Chapter 2

As Bishop Manuel Aringarosa entered the Royal Free hospital, the familiar smell of disinfectant stung his nose. No matter where you go, he thought, all hospitals smell the same. Chemicals to cover up the scent of death that hid behind closed doors.

He quickly found the receptionist in a desk at the front of the busy lobby. She was a rather large blonde woman; her makeup caked on too thick, turning her skin a decidedly unnatural shade of orange. Women these days all look like harlots, the bishop mused to himself.

"I'm here to visit a member of my congregation." He said softly.

"Name?" The woman said shortly.

"Silas." He replied. "No last name."

The woman looked at him skeptically, before typing something on the computer. Aringarosa let his thoughts drift to the information he had received earlier in the week.

The news that Silas was in fact alive, contrary to what he had been told earlier was weighing heavily on his mind. He had herd on TV that a young albino been found bleeding to death in a park near the Opus Dei house.

The Bishop was glad that Silas was alive; he was like a son to him and was his most loyal follower. At the same time, he was aware of how much simpler things would be right now if Silas had died. It was an unpleasant thought that kept invading his mind while he was stuck in the hospital, torturing him.

Soon after he was hospitalized, a member of the French Police had visited him. He said his name was Bezu Fache, and he informed him that they had arrested an Englishman by the name of Sir Leigh Teabing, for murdering Jacques Sauniere. Apparently, he had spent his life trying to locate the Holy Grail in order to discredit the church. After he was arrested, he implicated Opus Dei in his confession.

Immediately, the Bishop knew he had been duped. It meshed perfectly with The Teacher. His heart dropped as he realized that Teabing was The Teacher. Opus Dei had been simply a pawn in Teabing's game.

Fache went on to tell Aringarosa that the main reason that he had came was to find out if he new of any of his disciples being in contact with Teabing. It was impossible for Teabing, a cripple, to have murdered several people in a relatively short amount of time. He needed an accomplice. Even more incriminating, a nun was murdered in Saint-Sulpice after hours, implying some sort of connection to the Church.

It dawned on Aringarosa that it was most likely Silas. After all, he had been serving the teacher. His beloved Silas, an angel of god, had fallen from grace. A murder. He had thought he had changed. Evidently, he had not.

Yet Silas could not bee totally blamed. In fact, the bishop mostly blamed himself. True, Silas had done the physical act of murder, but Teabing had demanded it. But above all, if Aringarosa hadn't agreed to the Teachers requests none of this would have happened. Silas could be free; Opus Dei's reputation would not be in danger.

It was that day, after Fache left; that Aringarosa promised himself that he would do anything he could to prevent Silas from going back to jail. He did not want him to suffer as he had previously in jail. In the end, God would judge him.

His main concern, though, was that Opus Dei would soon be in shambles. He already had to deal with the fact that the Pope was withdrawing his support of the organization in mere months, but now his beloved movement was being threatened by a scandal. Once the press obtained information about Opus Dei's connection to the case, the fallout from the scandal would rock the foundations of the whole Catholic Church, and it would be his fault.

He cursed his naivety for believing The Teacher. He had been so desperate for a way to impress the church that he had not been thinking clearly. Now he was faced with a murdering disciple and the demonizing of Opus Dei.

The receptionist cleared her throat, bringing Aringarosa out of his thoughts. "He's in the ITU ward, 4 floor, room 12." She said in a nearly unintelligible cockney accent. "Best to keep the visit short."

He thanked the woman and took the stairs. An elevator was a luxury. Opus Dei required several small sacrifices in day-to-day life to better understand Christ's suffering. As a result Aringarosa hadn't had butter or a mattress since he had joined the organization.

"Silas." The monk slowly opened his eyes. His head was pounding, his hearing distorted. He was prepared to shoo away one of the pesky nurses that kept pestering him to take his pain medication.

"Pain is good," He repeated in his mind. It was his mantra. He needed to suffer even more than usual for what he had done. He was anxious to practice corporeal mortification again, but the hospital environment had made it impossible. He had to make do without taking medication for now.

The form of Aringarosa became visible in his eyes, his savior. It was his first visitor he had had in over a week. He could vaguely remember the prescience of some woman, shortly after he was revived at the hospital, but she had left quickly, leaving him to wonder if it was a hallucination. He used to like to think it was The Virgin, appearing before him in death. Silas quickly noticed that the Bishop did not look happy to as see him, as there was a frown on his face.

"Father…" Silas replied, and weakly stood up. Aringarosa was shocked. If even possible, Silas was paler and thinner than he was before. He truly resembled a ghost.

"You should sit down Silas," The bishop said. Silas obediently followed the bishop's orders. "I don't have much time."

Silas noted in his mind how upset Aringarosa sounded. He wondered if he knew what he had done. He had killed again. And he had shot Aringarosa. He was a murderer again, a monster.

"I'm sorry." Silas was desperate to confess his sins to someone. He had already exhausted himself through countless hours of prayers and Hail Mary's. " I have ki-"

The bishop suddenly interrupted. He did not want Silas to confirm that he was a murder, even though the bishop knew he was. He wanted to still think of him, as the shy, devoted monk he had know since Silas was a teenager. "Silas, I do not wish to hear what you have done." He noticed the wounded look that appeared on the monks face. "The police are looking for you. I imagine as soon as you are well enough you will be turned over."

" I know." Silas would rather have been killed than to endure more prison time. He was supposed to die. He was supposed to be a martyr for the Church, not a killer. But he couldn't even have that, after learning that the Teacher had deceived them. He had killed for nothing, and would have died for nothing.

"Have you found the Teacher?" Silas inquired.

"No, Silas." The bishop lied. He did not want anymore killing, if he were to implement his plan. "And I do not plan to look for him either."

Silas frowned as the bishop continued. "You do not wish to return to jail?"

The monk nodded in agreement. "Then Silas, you are going to have to leave this place as soon as possible. Earlier this week a member of the French police visited me. They know about Opus Dei's connection, my child. It is only a matter of time until they find out about you."

The monk looked at him uneasily. " What I'm trying to say Silas is that your presence is now danger to the church. I'm going to have to excommunicate you." He barely managed to say the last sentence.

"What!" Silas howled as if in pain.

"Please, quiet down Silas. Try to understand"

Silas once again stood up from his bed, and got down onto his knees in front of the bishop. "Please Father, don't…"

Aringarosa turned his back to Silas, unable to look at his disciple. It was the hardest thing he had done in his life, but he had to do it for the sake of the church. He had begun to think of Silas as a son, and now he had to betray him.

"Silas. I can get you anything you need if you just leave. It's for your own good. Money, a passport." Aringarosa was prepared to use his few remaining connections to help the monk.

The Bishops initial words had hit Silas like a lead weight. The man he had followed so loyally for so long, a person he had liked to consider a friend, had betrayed him But the bishops offers of money had only managed to enrage him.

" I do not need your money." Silas said, disgusted, as he grabbed the Bishop by the throat, slamming him against the hospital wall. He realized how easy it would be to kill the smaller man now. He had, after all killed five times now. What would make this different? His thoughts were then suddenly overcome by horror as he realized that he was thinking about killing a Bishop. He was about to kill a man of God. He abruptly dropped the bishop, and quickly left the hospital room.

Silas could feel people staring at him as he made his way toward the exit, stopping in the middle of the halls as they stared at his freakish appearance. Small children openly pointed at him. Silas ignored the cries of nurses desirable trying to get him to return to his room as he made his way outside. He was once again a ghost, a freak; he no longer had the protection Opus Dei had given him.

He would once again be a ghost on the streets. The thought enraged him so much he punched the side of a corridor wall, savoring the pain and the blood it brought forth. All of his years of single-minded devotion were for nothing.

Aringarosa sat there for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath. He could hear nurses shouting at Silas in the hall outside as he made his way out of the hospital. He could feel blood making way down the side of neck, and wiped out of with has robe as he reflected upon what had just happened.

His plan had worked. Silas was gone.Excommunication was the only way that he could distance him far enough from the church. As a Bishop, the church was first on his mind. Plus, Silas had been physically violent towards him, and that in alone was grounds for automatic excommunication from the church.

The Bishop knew that morally, he should have not let Silas go. But he felt indebted to the young monk, who had saved his life before. Silas was not a bad person at heart. Aringarosa knew that hours with the discipline and prayer were in store for what he had done. It was only another sin to add to the list he had committed in the past few weeks.

The bishop sighed as he realized that it was now up to Silas himself to avoid the police, and make a new life for himself. Aringarosa had done all he could do by letting him escape. Hopefully, he would be fine, but Aringarosa could not ignore the feeling in his heart that told him otherwise.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I should mention I'm going by the book, but the film has a couple of interesting idea's that I've incorporated. Also, because of Evie's foul mouth and bad habits, the rating has been increased just to be safe

Evie sighed as she took the last swig of her beer before depositing the empty can bottle in the trashcan. Tonight had been shit. She had been on yet another 'date' on the suggestion of her closest friend Gemma.

Gemma was, for the lack of a better word, insane. She was loud, ditzy, and a bit of a narcissist. Yet at the same time she was funny and surprisingly intelligent. However, she also had a tendency to get in others business, as Evie knew all to well.

Evie was for the most part, liked to think of her self as shy. Some would like to digress and think of her as bitch. But most of all she was quite independent, and if there was one thing she truly hated, it was other people getting in her business. Especially when it came to anything to do with romantic relationships.

Unfortunately, Gemma was one of those girls who just loved to play matchmaker, not matter how unwilling the participants. She had told Evie several times, that as she was studying abroad, she should be 'expanding her cultural awareness'. In Gemma's twisted world thismeant dating lots of British boys.

Gemma's idea of dates usually involved setting her up with a friend of somebody's brother's cousin twice removed, or some similar arrangement. Understandably, this was quite annoying. Evie had tied to subtly refuse Gemma's offers of dates, but of course, Gemma had managed to invite somebody along without Evie's knowledge.

Take tonight, for example. Gemma, being an up and coming young actress and theatre buff, had persuaded Evie, to accompany her to a performance of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing at The Globe. Evie had reluctantly agreed on the grounds that while she was studying in London, she should actually do something of cultural worth for once.

Of course, Gemma had managed to drag somebody along. Upon entering the restaurant, she was encountered with Gemma, her flavor of the week boyfriend, Paul or some other p name, and his flat mate. She was then forced to engage in the most awkward conversations she had ever had in her life, as her 'date' Dominik was a Polish immigrant with only a rudimentary knowledge of English. An Evie was far from a skilled conservationist; there were long periods of awkward silence through the night.

When Evie confronted Gemma with this little setback, all she got was a blank look.

"But I thought you're taking Russian." Gemma said, as she reapplied her signature icy pink lipstick.

"Damn it Gemma, he's from POLAND. Not Russia. He speaks POLISH." Apparently, languages weren't Gemma's strong point.

It only got worse from there. Gemma was a flake and had forgotten to tell her were to be groundlings at the theatre- that meant standing for three hours. Rather than subject her feet to that torture, Evie had decided to not so stealthily sneak off. It's not like she would see the kid again, and it was somewhat of a polite way to tell Gemma to fuck off in her personal affairs.

After a pit stop at a store for some beer and a pack of cigarettes, Evie made her way to the closest underground station. After nearly killing herself after the heel of one of her shoes got stuck in grating on the millennium bridge, she stopped to watch the sunset over the Thames, providing a moment of peace before she had to get on the underground for the long, hectic and often delayed ride home.

Forty-five minutes later she found herself sitting in the middle of the small park not far from her flat. It was a tradition of hers after a particularly stressful day, to head for the park and unwind on the lawn with a can of beer and her mp3 player. It was a peaceful haven away from the hustle and bustle of London.

After depositing her beer and lighting a cigarette, she returned to her bench. Upon hear arrival she discovered that someone had occupied her spot. Instantly, she recognized him. It was the man from the park. It had nearly been a month, but his features were unmistakable.

His eyes, the lightest most intense blue she had ever see met her own. He was an albino. She had never seen one in real life… and she realized that she had been staring.

Embarrassed, she sat down on a bench near his. As she smoked, she thought about asking him why he had been shot, but that was quite a personal thing to ask. Besides, she doubted he even remembered her. He had been in bad shape and was delirious, and coupled with her intense dislike of hospitals cutting her visit short; there was practically no chance of her recalling her.

Silas had once again returned to the traumatic lifestyle he had endured as a child. He was an urchin on the street, a freakish undesirable. His life without Opus Dei was filled with sin and humiliation. He had to sin to survive, reluctantly returning to his mainstay of pick pocketing.

However, he vainly tried to retain some holiness in his life, although it was a hopeless He only stole when absolutely necessary from the shadier characters of the city. Still, he knew that this was not right. He drifted throughout London in a haze of constant despair, preferring to only go out under the cover of night, just like the ghost that he was. He only ventured out during the day, humiliated to catch a meal and a shower at one of the many shelters.

The worst feeling of all was when he passed the magnificent cathedrals. He longed to go inside and confess his sins, and return to his position as a servant of god. Many times he had nearly walked into them, but he then felt embarrassed of himself and his sins. He felt unclean in the house of god.

He spent his nights in the many parks and bridges in London. We he managed to sleep; it was a tenuous one often interrupted by the flashlights of suspicious policemen and the noises of rowdy drunks. He was wracked with guilt and it was difficult to sleep. The words of the French woman replayed in his mind like a recording. _Your God burns murderers_, it infected his dreams. Even though he new that the woman was a heathen, an enemy of the church, and a small part of him felt guilty.

It was on a night in very late April, that Silas found himself in a small park in a part of the city called Hammersmith. The area was mostly residential, and was much quieter than that of the city center. He had found a bench to sleep on and was focused on reading a newspaper in the remaining light, when he heard footsteps. He wasn't alarmed until the stopped directly in front of him.

When he looked up, his own blue eyes met grey. The woman quickly realized that she had been staring, and tried to nonchalantly make her way to a nearby bench, and sat looking away from him. Silas examined her profile out of the corner of his eyes, far more discreet than the woman had been.

She was quite tall for a woman, young, and had wavy dark hair. Quite disgustingly she was smoking a cigarette. Yet Silas could not shake the feeling that the woman was vaguely familiar. The woman took a long drag on her cigarette, before exhaling and turning towards him.

"You were that man in the park." She stated, in a matter of fact manner. Apparently, she was American. Silas stared at her blankly. He had been in many parks in the fast few weeks; he couldn't be expected to remember some woman.

"You were bleeding, so I called the ambulance." She continued slowly, sounding unsure of herself. It was then that Silas recognized the woman, reconciling her face with a faint image in his head.

"I'm sorry." She said suddenly. "I probably seem like some freak to you. But if you don't mind, why were you hurt?"

This had caught Silas off guard. He was unsure of how to answer the question. After all, if he said he was shot feeling from the police, it would cause quite a bit of trouble.

"I was robbed and shot." He lied. Yet another sin added to the long list he needed to seek pittance for.

"Ahh. There's been quite a bit of crime lately." She said and seemed to dismiss the matter. "My name's Evie." She said awkwardly.

"Silas." He said after a moment.

"That's an interesting name." She said. Her cigarette was gone, and it was getting dark. She felt like she was being an annoying child with endless questions. If a stranger were to talk to her that much, she would be a little weirded out. She decided it was time for her to leave. "Hopefully I will see you again, Silas." She said, before scurrying off towards her flat, leaving Silas to reflect upon how along it had been since he had heard his own name.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry about the long delay. I had one killer case of a writer's block, before typing this up rather quickly. I apologize as Silas seems rather OOC to me in this chapter. Personally I'm not very satisfied with it. Also, I desperately need a beta reader, if anyone is interested.

"Hey Silas." Evie said, as the familiar, darkly clothed figure appeared suddenly on the grass next to her. It was unnerving at first, for him to simply appear seemingly out of nowhere, but she had gotten used to it. She got a simple nod of the head in return. Evie rolled his eyes at him in return.

"You're so friendly." She said sarcastically. The albino mumbled something in what sounded like French under his breath.

Silas had formed an unlikely relationship with Evie, not quite a friendship, more of an understanding of each other. He had initially been loath to even talk to a woman, but she was…strange. She had not tried to seduce him, as he had been taught all women would, as they were daughters of the devil. She also had not shunned him because as so many of the Opus Dei sisters (the only decent women, he had been taught) seemed to due.

He had repeatedly ran into her at the park on several occasions, initially accidentally. Silas later found out that she went there every night. Eventually, he had found himself seeking Evie out in the park on purpose. He needed some human contact to keep himself sane- or as close to sane as he could be after what he had done.

He liked to sit and listen to her, but it was a new experience when she asked him questions. He was always used to being told things, listening to people or doing orders. He had never had a chance to express his opinions before. This sudden change had made him somewhat uncomfortable.

"The whole Central line is shut down, it'll be at least an hour before its opened back up. Apparently there was another bomb threat. What are you going to do?" She said giving him a questioning glance.

It took a few moments for what she was saying to register with Silas. He had told her some time before that he lived over in Acton, as it was the first area that came to mind. He certainly didn't want her to know that he was homeless.

"I could wait here or I take a cab."

"It's to hot to be out here that long. Besides, I need to get my groceries home anyway." Evie said as she gestured towards a small bag of goods. "How about you come over for a little while? Don't be stubborn."

Silas pondered her proposition in his mind. It would be nice to be indoors for once. "Okay"

"Good." Evie said, lighting a cigarette before grabbing a hold of her groceries. She eventually led Silas to a Victorian row house about 15 minutes from the park, and into an apartment.

"It's quite small, as you can see." To Evie, this was a bit of an understatement. Although it was a two bedroom flat, each room seemed to be only slightly larger than closet. She disappeared, and the albino sat down on a rather ugly old couch.

"My roommate probably won't be home till much later. She's out to dinner with someone." Evie called from the kitchenette, as she put the groceries in there respective cupboards.

Silas glanced around the tiny reception area. It contained only the couch he was sitting on, a TV, and a coffee table scattered with cigarette cartons and various magazines, all advising women about certain indecent things in such an explicit manner that the albino had to mentally scold himself. There were also several photographs of a delicate looking blonde with the name Gemma Ashford emblazoned upon them, along with what he presumed was her phone number, and various measurements

Evie strode in a few minutes later, uncermonisly dumping the large cardboard book down on top of the coffee table. She handed Silas a double shot glass, and started pouring herself some whiskey.

"Pick one you want." She said, before downing the drink. Silas discovered that Evie had brought in box with many different types of alcohol. It was not what he had expected when she said get a drink. A part from the sacramental wine, he hadn't had any alcohol. He selected a bottle at random with an odd logo resembling a bat called Bacardi 151.

He nearly spat out the alcohol when it hit his tongue, and reluctantly swallowed the vile concoction. Evie paid no mind, as she had turned the TV and was watching what appeared to be a soccer match. It had been the first time Silas had seen, let alone watched a television in at east fifteen years.

The night continued with the two watching TV, talking and in Evie's case, drinking. The alcohol had given the albino a strange, but not totally unenjoyable feeling. Silas had decided to try a different beverage, but had drunk nowhere as much as Evie who had managed to drink close to half the bottle of Jim Beam. She didn't seem drunk to Silas. He was used to the violent drunks in the many French towns he lived in, loud men that stuck of urine and vomit who passed out in gutters. She was maybe a little more talkative than usual, but she eventually fell asleep on the couch.

He decided to move her to her room. Silas decided that the room containing various half finished paintings and messy bed sheets was Evie's, instead of the one that was impeccable in pink. His choice was validated when he noticed a pack of half finished Lucky Strikes on the floor. He deposited her on the bed, and she mumbled something under her breath before turning over onto her side.

Silas stumbled back into the living room, the alcohol impairing his abilities to walk. He sat on the sofa for a few minutes, deciding what to do. Obviously, he couldn't just stay here, but he really didn't want to go back out into London. His thoughts were interrupted when a familiar name drew him back to reality.

"Robert Langdon." The name sent a shock through his body as he remembered the events that had conspired months ago. Sure enough, the news program showed footage of Langdon at a book signing. The reporter was doing a story on his return to London to promote his book, The Sacred Feminine, as the tour had been interrupted in April due to his well-publicized police chase.

Silas was overcome with disgust at the very mention of his name. He was nothing but a sacrilegious nuisance.

_But you're not any better_. He said to him self suddenly. Stealing, lying, drinking…the fallen monk abruptly smashed a nearby bottle of liquor. Murder. He had become an animal. The sudden urge for the discipline immediately overcame him.

That night, in an alcohol induced haze, Silas made a slew of promises to himself. He would get revenge on Langdon, for blatantly disrespecting the church and humiliating himself. He would also go against Aringarosa's wishes and reveal the identity of the teacher, and would punish him. Finally, he would make his triumphant return to Opus Dei.

The ghost was back again.


End file.
